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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24606580">letters to a young poet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs'>firewoodfigs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Royai Week 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Mentions of Racism, Original Poetry - Freeform, Royai Week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:35:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24606580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza Hawkeye, a young, aspiring poet, exchanges letters with her fiancé, Roy Mustang during his time in the military academy. He attempts to write her poems and prose about life and love, and occasionally sends her presents to remind her of him. Like his boxers.</p><p>(for royaiweek day 1 - letters)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Royai Week 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>letters to a young poet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is taken from Rilke's book, letters to a young poet :)<br/>tw: the timeline of this is largely based on yet another man's battlefield, so there are brief mentions of racism here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Promise you’ll write to me when I’m away?” </p><p>“Of course, Roy,” Riza drawls idly as she adjusts his coat and ensures that his tie is neatly in place. </p><p>“Thank you. I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before stretching his arms out invitingly. Smiling, she leans in and allows herself to be crushed to his chest in a warm, firm embrace. </p><p><em> God, I’m really going to miss her </em>, he thinks, as he inhales her scent - a lovely mix of gunpowder and peonies and old books - and incarcerates it in his memory. </p><p>Roy steps back to admire her pretty countenance properly. Pride and admiration swells in his heart, and he can't help but run his fingers gently through her flaxen tresses once more before resting them on her lips.  </p><p>“Let me be your muse,” Roy declares with a triumphant grin, pressing a hand to his heart with a melodramatic flourish that earns an amused eye roll from his fiancée. “For parting is such sweet sorrow, and -“ </p><p>“Shut up.” She pulls him by his tie to kiss him roughly, before flashing a wicked grin and kicking him out of the door. “Get going, you lovesick, histrionic fool.” </p><p>Riza throws his belongings out and slams the door as he stares at the wood longingly with an endearing pout. </p><p> </p><p>~x~</p><p>
  <em> June 8th  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Riza,  </em>
</p><p><em> How doth your literary endeavours <br/>
</em> <em>come along? I hope all is well with thee. <br/>
</em> <em>Whenever I close my eyes, I see you <br/>
</em> <em>Like a midsummer’s night dream, exquisite <br/>
</em> <em>And when I open my eyes to sunlight <br/>
</em> <em>I cannot wait to see you once again. </em></p><p>
  <em> All my love, <br/>
</em>
  <em>Roy. </em>
</p><p>~x~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> June 12th  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Roy,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Stop trying to imitate Shakespeare and force all your sentences into iambic pentameters. It makes me shudder - in disgust, not delight, lest you misconstrue what I’m saying.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyway, my literary endeavours are coming along fine. I’ve been spending my time reading some of the books you got me for my birthday, and for someone who writes so incorrigibly you sure do have impeccable taste. All is well on my end. What about you? How are you adjusting to the academy?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thanks for the pressed flowers that you sent over, by the way. They’re surprisingly lovely, though I’m sure all credit goes to Vanessa’s guidance.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I also enclosed a scarf that I personally knitted for you in case it gets cold at night. Because you have an uncanny tendency to misplace your things, I embroidered a few water droplets in blue at the bottom for clearer identification (if you lose it I’m never making you anything ever again, this took me days to complete).  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hopefully, they serve as a reminder to you that you’re useless in the rain as well, so that you’ll refrain from doing anything reckless or stupid in my absence.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All my love, <br/>
</em>
  <em>Riza. </em>
</p><p>~x~</p><p> </p><p>Roy tears the package open with all the enthusiasm of a child opening his presents on Christmas morning the instant it lands in his hands. His eyes light up appreciatively at the lovely scarf, laughing at the tiny water droplets at the bottom that she’d added as a personal touch. </p><p>When he reads her letter and realises its intended meaning, though, an indignant frown makes its way to his handsome features.</p><p>Nevertheless, he dons it on immediately, relishing in the warm comfort and how it smelt like her, like flowers blooming in spring (even if his fiancée didn’t appreciate his poetic attempts, he very much liked to believe he was capable of using a simile properly). </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> June 16th </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Riza,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for the lovely gift, although your harsh words wound me terribly. Nevertheless, I understand that underneath your acerbic tongue lies a tender heart full of love, and I am a lucky man to be the sole recipient of it. I’m glad you liked the flowers. One day I’ll buy you a carful of them, I promise.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Things are going fine here. I’m adjusting well to the ridiculous sleep schedule (you’re the only person I know who willingly wakes up at seven in the morning daily), and with the rigorous physical training we have to endure I believe you’ll have a glorious set of washboard abs to admire the next time you see me.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I must say, though, the food here is pretty bad. Spinach quiche is pretty much the only edible thing, but this man - I think his name was Huggles or something. Sorry, Hughes - had the audacity to take the last piece of quiche right under my nose.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (Per your commands, though, I refrained from trying anything stupid.)  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What’s even worse is the racial prejudice. The other day I saw an Ishvalan getting bullied by a trio of ugly men, but they left before I realised what was really happening… So I helped him out after that. I can’t bear it, to this day - they picked on him just because of his skin colour, for goodness sake! It was completely unwarranted.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s only been a week but I already miss you terribly. Can’t wait till I see you again.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All my love, which extends from one end of Amestris to Xing, <br/>
</em>
  <em>Roy. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>~x~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> June 21st  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Roy,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sure, keep deluding yourself however you like if it makes you happy. You’re not the only recipient, by the way - I made a cute little scarf for Hayate, too, who has replaced your ‘snuggling spot’ in my bed, as you like to call it. Between the both of you I sometimes can’t tell who smells worse.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Also, don’t be ridiculous - what would I even do with a carful of flowers?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m glad to hear that things are fine on your end. Waking up at seven is a wonderful thing, especially when you get to see the sunrise, no? I look forward to seeing those abs, though with your drinking habits I’m sure you’ll probably end up with a beer belly in the foreseeable future. Don’t drink too much.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry to hear about the quiche. I’ll make you one when you’re back. If it makes you feel better, though, I’ve sent some cookies I made the other day to you as well. Express delivery, in case they go bad.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Also, even if you haven’t already punched the Hughes guy I can already envision you slamming your tray down on the table, turning around to scowl at him like a petulant child and competing with him in just about everything you do.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All I will say is this: relax, it’s just a bloody quiche.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Good to know that you did that! The Ishvalans most certainly don’t deserve such treatment. No one does, of course, but it’s frustrating that certain ethnicities still continue to be singled out and ostracised in Amestris, despite the state’s proclamation that it’s a cosmopolitan society accepting of different cultures and whatnot… Until then, we have to stand with them, stand up for what’s right, and -- oh, I don’t mean to ramble. Just know that I’m proud of you, Roy. Keep at it.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If it does make you feel better I suppose a tiny part of me does miss you too. Just the slightest.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All my love, <br/>
</em>
  <em>Riza (not interested in your silly competitions) Hawkeye. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>~x~</p><p> </p><p>Roy blanched at the bag of cookies she’d sent him and the thought of Riza’s quiche. Cooking had never been her strongest suit, and while she was talented in many areas somehow all of that seemed to go away every time she entered a kitchen. </p><p>Nevertheless, it was Riza who’d painstakingly made them, and because he appreciates his fiancée’s efforts he vows to eat every single one of them even in her absence. </p><p>He bites down on a cookie apprehensively, and is pleasantly surprised to discover that it’s edible<em> . </em> It bears emphasising that <em> this </em> is an incredible feat for Riza Hawkeye - considering how she’d managed to almost burn the entire kitchen down when she tried to make a simple pasta dish for his birthday. </p><p>(Fortunately, they’d managed to extinguish it, but afterwards Roy mentally designated himself as head chef for the rest of their lives.) </p><p>Deeply touched by the gesture, he wraps one of his shirts to send back as a gift. The thought of her dressed in his apparel has him grinning like the lovesick, histrionic fool that Riza said he was. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> June 26th </em><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Riza,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Don’t say that, I definitely smell better than Hayate. And I know for a fact that you love me, although maybe not as much as I love you -- my love for you knows no territorial boundaries.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You could curate your own gardens with a carful of flowers, I suppose. And we could… Well, smell the flowers and procrastinate together?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It is - the sunlight reminds me of you, and I appreciate that. A lot. I also haven’t been drinking, so don’t worry - these glorious abs are definitely en route to you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for the cookies - they were delicious, and I look forward to your quiche when I return. Baby steps, alright? I hope the kitchen will still be intact when I come home.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> … It’s sometimes creepy how well you know me… But I think you’ll be pleased to at least know that I became friends with Hughes, after we confronted said trio.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We also made a new friend today - Heathcliff! He’s the Ishvalan I told you about in my last letter. He told us he joined the military because he wanted to change and empower the people’s perceptions of Ishval and its culture from a point of leadership. I think that’s an admirable dream - one that I’d like to assist in, too. He’s been a great friend, and I can’t stand to see him be the recipient of so many pejorative remarks. It’s completely unjustified, and you’re absolutely right on that point. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I take that as an admission that you miss me ‘most ardently’ - have you been writing poems about me in my absence?   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On that note, you’ll be pleased to know that I have a break on the 8th of July for a couple of days. Want to do something fun? I know you’ve been dying to check out that shooting range, and I’ve been training in the academy for my victory.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All my love, kisses and glorious abs, <br/>
</em>
  <em>Roy </em>
</p><p>
  <em> P.S. I’ve also enclosed a token of my own affection herein for you - hopefully it reminds you of me whenever you wear it.   </em>
</p><p>~x~</p><p><br/>
Riza stared confusedly at the oddly-shaped lump that surfaced after she opened the package. After reading his letter she was expecting one of his shirts, maybe one of his button-downs that would’ve been perfect as an oversized sleeping top on her, but she certainly wasn’t expecting his… </p><p>Boxers. </p><p>His <em> boxers, </em> of all things <em> . </em>She holds it up to scrutinise it in its full glory, and it’s peppered with little puppies - his favorite pair. </p><p>To say Riza is surprised is an understatement. She’s not quite sure <em> why </em>he’d sent her his boxers or how she’s supposed to even wear it, but she chucks it aside in the laundry for him to retrieve it when he returns. </p><p>July the 8th. The date's circled in bold, bright red on her calendar. </p><p>She’d never admit this out loud to any living person, not even her best friend Rebecca. The only person who’d heard her let out an almost-giggle (almost, because Riza Hawkeye did not do giggles) in excitement was Hayate. Because <em> god, </em>did she miss him terribly, and true to his predictions he’d been her muse for quite a number of her recent poetic endeavours. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> July 3rd  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Roy,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Whatever, you insane idiot. I miss you and I love you too. That is all.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For the record, the kitchen is still intact, and will continue to be so. My cooking skills aren’t that bad.    </em>
</p><p><em> That’s great to hear. You’re an honorable </em> <em><strike> and intelligent (this is questionable)</strike> </em> <em> man, Roy, and I would definitely like to see that kind of change happening. I hope Heathcliff is well, too - send him my regards.  </em></p><p>
  <em> … I refuse to lower myself to drawing smiley faces on my letters, but you’ll see one on July the 8th in person.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And yes, it would be nice to check out that shooting range, though let’s be real - we both know you can’t defeat me no matter how hard you try. I do live up to my namesake, after all.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All my love, <br/>
</em>
  <em>Riza </em>
</p><p>
  <em> P.S I don’t know if it was intentional, but I never knew you had a thing for me wearing your boxers. Unfortunately, they are way too loose for me and I won’t be wearing them any time soon. Your underwear and I eagerly await your return.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>~x~</p><p> </p><p>The 8th of July finally comes around. Everyone in the academy is astonished at just how fast Roy Mustang is capable of running. He might’ve been the golden boy, and he generally outran most, if not all, of them during their training sessions, but now he looked like his pants were on fire as he made a dash for the gate and boarded the first train in a sweaty mess. </p><p>Roy continues running like a madman after alighting the train, desperate to reach their home as soon as possible to explain his predicament. He certainly hadn’t intended to send his underwear over, and was sure that one of the other men must have done so as a practical joke on him. </p><p>(Fortunately for the culprit, Roy didn’t manage to identify who he was, but there would certainly be hell to pay when he did so.) </p><p>As if on cue, Riza opens the door with a beatific smile adorning her features. “I can hear you panting all the way from the other end of Amestris, Roy.” </p><p>He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Well, I’m excited to see you, for starters. And, uh…” </p><p>“You want your underwear back?” </p><p>“Yes, of course I do.” He pants, struggling to catch his breath while trying to formulate a coherent explanation. “Look, I swear it wasn’t deliberate - I intended to send you one of my shirts, and I definitely don’t have a thing for you wearing my boxers. I don’t know which idiot in the academy substituted my shirt for my underwear to sabotage -”<br/>
<br/>
She lets out a laugh. It's loud, unrestrained. Roy thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard in a month. “You really are hopeless, Roy. It’s fine. Defeat me at the shooting range, and you can have it back tonight.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>~x~</p><p> </p><p>In the end, his favorite pair of boxers sits at the bottom of the laundry for the rest of the day, because Riza Hawkeye is an indomitable force of nature at the shooting range. </p><p>She does, however, have a poem written for him, and he’s so enraptured by it that he forgets all about the underwear fiasco. “I’m back home, <em> ma </em> <em> chérie </em>,” he whispers as he runs his fingers down the groove of her spine, as if he’s tracing constellations on the canvas of her back while they lay together on satin, hearts thrumming in harmony. “I’d like to keep holding you close, too -” he recites, but he’s quickly interrupted by her. </p><p>“You sound best when you don’t speak, Roy,” and with that Riza silences him with a fiery kiss that rouses an overwhelming conflagration in him.</p><p>One that can only be put out by <em> her. </em> </p><p>Roy grins delightfully into the kiss, all too willing to oblige. Her lips are an inviting chamber of unbridled affection and unsatisfied desire, and he finds himself exploring her eagerly, fingers tracing her sharp cheekbones in reverent adoration. </p><p>Riza responds in kind, trailing a hand down his shirt and notes, somewhat gleefully, that he has indeed returned with said glorious abs. She makes a move to untuck his shirt, humming to herself in amusement as she feels his bare stomach quiver beneath her curious palm. </p><p>He’s quick to make a comeback, though. Unwilling to be teased by her Roy draws her deeper into the kiss - she’s utterly incredible, he thinks, as he cards his fingers through her flaxen tresses - and he tastes traces of eggs and pastries and -</p><p>- and <em> spinach? </em></p><p>“You made spinach quiche?” Roy asks curiously, breaking away from the kiss for the briefest of moments. </p><p>“What on earth,” she huffs. “Way to ruin the moment, Roy.” A scarlet blush makes its way to her cheeks - equal parts breathlessness from the vigour with which he kisses her, and embarrassment at being found out. </p><p>He laughs, and quotes yet another line teasingly. “Didn’t you say you’ll even listen to my silly moonshine?” </p><p>Riza scowls. “I do regret writing that now. Perhaps I will -” </p><p>“No, no, please continue writing more,” Roy pleads in earnest, and before she can make a decision he’ll live to regret he kisses her again with such an ardent love, such a fervent passion that it completely derails her train of thought. </p><p>The quiche rests in the oven, burnt and forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>~x~</p><p><em> adieu, mon chéri</em>. may you fare well. <br/>
in my heart, you will always dwell. <br/>
(won't you please come home soon, <br/>
or will it only be after june?) <br/>
<br/>
you write to me, letters<br/>
(hidden within are flowers) <br/>
to abate my need for you. i knit<br/>
scarves in a room candlelit;<br/>
<br/>
holding a heavy weight within<br/>
from empty spaces on satin.<br/>
i'd like to hold you close again<br/>
-- hurry, love, won't you run to the train?<br/>
<br/>
i'll let you place your weight on mine<br/>
oh, i'll even listen to your silly moonshine<br/>
(come home to me, darling<br/>
my soul is aching in longing)  </p><p>~x~</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*moonshine: foolish talk or ideas. </p><p>//</p><p>hey there!<br/>it's my first time writing in first person, so i hope it wasn't too ooc. it's also the first time i've attempted to stick to an actual rhyming scheme / form when writing poetry - hopefully it wasn't too bad xD as usual, feedback is greatly appreciated! </p><p>//</p><p>i hope you're all well, and happy royai week everyone!! take care, and God bless. :)<br/>say hi on tumblr if you're there, I'm firewoodfigs ^_^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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